


A Matter Of Text

by Call_Me_J



Series: A Matter of Text [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied Johnlock, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 01:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14367744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_J/pseuds/Call_Me_J
Summary: Sherlock gets a text that seems to shake him. What could cause such a reaction from the consulting detective?





	A Matter Of Text

Sherlock stared down at his phone in horror, the bright light making his face seem paler than it probably was.

“John,” he croaked out, still unstable to take his eyes off the screen, his brain struggling to comprehend the words displayed.

John, who had been sitting on his armchair ー typing up ‘The Case of the Missing Flamingo’ judging by the sounds he was making that barely registered in Sherlock’s brain ー sighed before calling out, “Yes? What is it, Sherlock?”

The taller man didn’t respond which made John grow worried. They have no cases at present so there should be no reason for Sherlock to retreat into his Mind Palace. During these times of inactivity, silence was the last thing to emerge from the detective.

“Sherlock?” John frowned at his partner sitting in his own armchair, looking into his ever-present phone with an unwavering stare.

“Sherlock?” John moved behind the taller man and leaned down to look at what had made his friend go so still. Upon reading the text, the blond burst out laughing, finally drawing the attention of his wide-eyed partner.

"What is it that you find so humorous?" Sherlock barked, incredulous. “Heavens, John, this is no laughing matter!”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “I would never have guessed…Greg and Mycroft.” He broke out into giggles again, making Sherlock yell about the text and the improbability of the situation.

^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^

Greg entered the room, towel over his shoulder and hair slightly damp from his shower, to find his beloved still lying in bed. Mycroft was giggling as he looked up at the phone hovering above his face.

The detective inspector stood at the doorway, smiling at the scene before him. The room by itself was messy, clothes were strewn everywhere, a black briefcase was lying on its side in front of the bed, books, magazines and random pieces of paper were tucked away in every nook and cranny. Greg spared a wince at the mess before looking back toward the bed. The plain coverlet was halfway to the floor, having been kicked away by the men at some point in the night.

It wasn’t the bed itself, however, that constantly drew Greg’s attention. The man lying on it, on the other hand…

“Gregory,” Mycroft smiled at the man, drawing him out of his musings.

Greg smiled back at him, as he drew closer to the bed before asking, “What has you in such a good mood, love?”

The darker-haired man pouted. “Can I not just be happy to see you?”

Greg rolled his eyes in response before sitting on the bed. “You can, but you were looking at your phone while looking so damned pleased.” As his words evoked another giggle from Mycroft, Greg grew suspicious. “What did you do, Myc?”

“Nothing,” he replied in a singsong voice before rolling over to plant his face into the bedsheet, his arms spread wide, his left hand clutching loosely at the phone ー

“Hey!” Greg exclaimed, reaching for the phone. “This is mine!” He tilted his head at Mycroft, silently asking for an explanation. But he was obviously not getting one as the other man was currently stifling his laughter into the bedsheet.

Greg sighed before running a hand over his face. “Mycroft.” He received an inquisitive rumble in response. “Care to explain what you were doing with my phone when yours is literally two feet away?”

Mycroft raised his head from the bed, his face impassive in a moment’s notice. “Communicating, Gregory. What else would I be doing?”

"Hacking into a minister's private phone, blowing up bridges across the oceans, watching porn. There's a lot of things you could do with a smartphone nowadays."

Mycroft scoffed. "Oh please, Gregory. Your phone is not secure enough to deal important business. And whyever would I require sexual stimuli from a digital device? I believe that is why you are here."

Greg didn't reply, instead choosing to turn on the phone. As he read the words displayed on the screen, he chuckled under his breath before muttering, "Oh you bastard."

“Ouch, such hurtful words, Gregory.”

“Jesus, Myc, I can’t believe you sent this to your brother.”

Mycroft fluttered his eyelashes. “Whatever do you mean? I am afraid I do not catch your meaning.”

Greg rolled his eyes at the man again before reading out loud. “‘Meet me at my office today. 3 pm. M.H.’” He stopped, threw an incredulous look at Mycroft before continuing, “Postscript: Yes brother dearest. This is Gregory’s phone.’ What the fuck Myc?”

Mycroft knew that Gregory wasn’t truly angry at him. If he had been, the darker haired man would be sporting a broken nose. Still, Mycroft couldn’t resist defending himself. “He was bound to realise, Gregory, when we finally ended up inviting them over for dinner.”

Greg gave in and leaned close to Mycroft, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I know, love, but maybe telling your brother over text that we’re dating wasn’t the best idea?”

Mycroft smirked up at the other man. “Oh, but just imagine his expression, Gregory. He sees me as his obnoxious, 100-year-old brother. To him, ‘Mycroft’ and ‘relationship’ are planets apart.”

Greg smiled as well, the thought of the consulting detective stumped and lost for words a pleasing one.

Mycroft sighed despairingly. “Speaking of my brother, I am afraid I must get going, love.” He slowly sat up and the pair simply sat together in a comfortable silence before the press of time spurred them into motion.

Before long, the couple was dressed fully and heading out the door. Stopping in the doorway, Greg pulled Mycroft into one last lingering kiss. As they parted for breath, Greg stroked Mycroft’s cheek, asking in a low voice, “Dinner tonight?”

Mycroft smiled in agreement and the two separated, going their own way, Mycroft in the black car Priscilla had brought around, Greg going for the Tube.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a short one. I specialise in domestic fluff so that is literally all this is. What can I do ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
